


unite inside these walls (or crumble from within)

by tobus (asoldandtrueasthesky)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6190234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asoldandtrueasthesky/pseuds/tobus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The betrayal comes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unite inside these walls (or crumble from within)

 

__**0**

  


“We’re here to join the Order.” Lily says, her voice unfaltering and somehow not betraying the nervousness that runs through all them, a binding thread.

Albus Dumbledore nods, as unreadable as ever. Mad-Eye Moody is scrutinising them, searching for their weaknesses, for weaknesses that will make them liabilities.

His magic eye lingers on Remus, werewolf, and Sirius, heir of House Black, and they both stiffen.

“They’re young, Albus.” He says finally, normal eye still trained on them and the other flitting around.

“What they lack in experience they more than make up for in heart.”

Moody snorts at that. “Lack of experience is what gets you killed. Heart is for peacetime and philosophers.” His attention turns back on them, if it had ever been away. “You’re Gryffindors, aren’t you? Looking for fame and glory? An adventure?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you here?” His eyes land on Sirius.

“Well, it’s the least I can do since the rest of my family are fucking things up.”

“To fight.” James says.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Remus mumbles, naked under his gaze. Moody can see all his scars.

“Because otherwise no one will be safe.”

Before Peter can give his reply Moody has his wand pointed at him.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Peter freezes.

“CONSTANT VILIGENCE! If I’d meant that, you’d be dead. If you’re going to be a part of this something like that will happen for real and just when you least expect it.”

Initiates satisfactorily traumatised, he moves on. Peter is still catching his breath. “Any of you tried to learn occulumency? I suggest you start trying. If you get caught it doesn’t matter how noble your intentions are of resisting torture and manipulation, Voldemort will tear the secrets out of your mind and then torture you for fun.”

Remus wonders for a moment if the others should mention their animagus forms. It could certainly be useful on missions but a selfish part of him wants to avoid the look of silent disappointment Dumbledore will give him for allowing his friends to break the law and his word.

He’s not prone to selfishness but none of the others have volunteered it and it’s not his secret to tell. He stays silent.

“I don’t like it but they’ll do.” Moody declares, which is probably the highest praise any of htem could hope to have garnered, speaking to Dumbledore but still with both eyes on them.  

“If you were confident in any new recruit, Alastor, I’d be checking you for polyjuice.”

“You should be doing that anyway.”                                                                                                                                                                                                       

 

**I**

**  
**

“Fuck, James.” Sirius stands up, always one for melodrama, arms waving in mock panic. “I’m going to be a Dad? I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility!”

They all laugh. It’s not that funny, like most of Sirius’s jokes but they’re not entirely sober and they haven’t had much to laugh about recently. James shoves him back down and Lily rolls her eyes.

Remus is quiet. He knows, more than most, just how vulnerable children are and their world is getting more dangerous by the day. They’re all still children themselves and he can’t help but wonder if bringing more potential victims into the world is the wisest thing to do.

He can see Lily watching him, eyes narrowed, and he shakes himself out of his pessimism. Maybe the baby and the hope and joy that’ll surely come with it is what they all need. “Pads, I don’t know what responsibility you’re worried about. You’ll just be the cool uncle who does his best to be a bad influence.”

“Well, what else would I do? That’s practically what uncles are for. It’s in the job description.”

“I’m not going to let you teach him how to get into mischief before he can even speak.”

Sirius whines, “James, your kid’s got to be a Marauder. We’ve gotta school him in our way from birth.”

James shrugs. Lily is quite imperious when she wants to be. “We can wait till he’s at Hogwarts.”

“We can give him the Map.” Peter adds.

“And the cloak.”

Lily gives up. “You can pay for all the howlers we’ll no doubt have to send him if he takes after you lot.”

It’s their small moment of joy and they drink and tease and joke as if the world isn’t ending around them.

 

**II**

**  
**

“Moony, you’re not just having a drink.” It’s not exactly a date. Sure, they didn’t invite James or Peter and they’re having a meal in a place that isn’t a pub or a café full of old ladies- oh, who is he kidding, it’s a date.

“You’re not rich anymore.”

Sirius shrugs. “I still have a load of priceless heirlooms lying in my trunk somewhere, I’ll pawn them off when I need to. I sure as hell can afford to get you a dinner. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you foot the bill?” Though judging by his gaunt appearance and used clothes Remus could barely afford his drink. He feels guilty for insisting on the restaurant rather than the grubby café.

Remus eventually mutters an order and Sirius calls the waiter over before he can change his mind. His pride is going to be the death of him someday, Sirius thinks, and then feels sick thinking about it. But he’ll be around and he’s certainly not going to let Remus starve.

They trade idle chatter and reminisce through the meal until Sirius can’t hold it in any longer.

“Moony, you’re not eating are you?”

He stiffens, closing up in an instant. “I’m fine. I’ll find a job soon, I’ve got another interview tomorrow.”

Sirius stares at him sceptically.

“It’ll work out soon enough.”

He’s unconvinced but he allows Remus to steer conversation into calmer waters until they’re almost finished. He’d been planning to let it go until next time until he sees Remus scraping his fork on the dwindling plate of food, trying to hide his hunger.

“We can’t go on like this.” Sirius says and Remus’s gaze snaps up to him. “Merlin, I’m not breaking up with you or anything, relax.”

“You’re, you’re not going to do anything drastic, are you? Please don’t ask me to marry you.”

“Are you saying you’d say no?” Sirius pouts, channelling Padfoot.

“I’m saying it’s not legal and won’t be any time soon and also we’re nineteen.”

“Since when has legality stopped us? Okay, okay, I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not soppy like that anyway.”

“Sure.”

“But. You should move in with me.”

Remus draws away. “I’m fine, Padfoot. I don’t need any help.”

“I’m worried about you. It’s not charity, it’s just I have money and can get a job pretty easily and it’s only fair. And that’s not the only reason.” He grins. “There are other perks too. You know, as long as you don’t mind living in sin or anything.”

Remus glances at him, faintly amused. “Living in sin?”

“It’s what my mother calls it.”

“A wise woman indeed. I bet you follow all of her teachings.”

“Oh, sod off. Will you or won’t you?”

 

**III**

_  
_

No matter what he’d told Moody Sirius had seen the war as a bit of an adventure at first. He’d dreamt of an easy triumph of Light over Dark; of himself and his friends being heroes and alive and steeped in legend and glory.

The reality didn’t fully catch up with him until he was lying in the hospital wing, surrounded by healers after a mission had gone horribly wrong. Gideon and Fabian Prewett had died beside him.

Molly Weasley had been into see him, trying to hide her tearstained face. She’d come looking for comfort, for solace, for something he didn’t know how to give. They’d died as heroes and he’d told her that but she didn’t want heroes. She wanted her brothers back.

He hasn’t seen James in ages. The war had become all-consuming and left no time for friendship and visits and sleepovers. They’re probably too old for sleepovers. But his injuries, if nothing else, have summoned him and it’s a relief to see him again. To be reminded that he’s lucky, that James is alive.

It’s been almost an hour and he hasn’t smiled at all. It must be starting to unnerve James because he says, “You’re awfully serious today.” and he doesn’t make it into a joke.

“What is it Sirius?” James asks, serious now and peering down at him through his glasses. For one absurd moment it reminds him of Dumbledore. He still doesn’t laugh.

He probably looks shell-shocked, Sirius realises, and he feels like it too. “The mission. They were waiting for us, they _knew._ ”

“I know,” he says patiently, “Moody says there’s a spy.”

“I only told three people about the mission.”

James looks at him sharply. “You mean…?”

“It’s one of us.”

A shadow passes over his face and then James shakes his head. “ _No_. Fabian or Gideon might have told one of the others, it can’t be one of us. We’re all brothers.”

Sirius isn’t looking at him. All he can think of is Fabian and Gideon, dead, and how he’d fled, not able to even take a second to mourn them.

“You think it is, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to think. All I know is whoever it is, if I get my hands on them they’ll wish they were facing Voldemort himself.”

James looks away.

“I don’t suspect you, mate.” Sirius adds hurriedly. “Never you.”

“Remus, then? Peter? Aren’t they your friends as much as me?”

“’Course they are. It’s just… If one of them is the spy it’s not just my life at stake. It’s yours and Lily’s and _Harry’s_.”

“I understand.” James says though he doesn’t, not really. Suspecting his friends would be betrayal in itself. “But innocent until proven guilty, right?”

“Right.”

“When did everything get so complicated? A few years ago my biggest problem was convincing Lily that I wasn’t a giant prat and hiding from McGonagall.”

“I don’t know how you managed it, Prongs.” Sirius grins. “Since you’re definitely a giant prat.”

 

**IV**

  


The worst part of missions isn’t the duels and the harsh certainty that if you had been a little slower, took too long to fire that hex, had hesitated for just a second you’d have died a hundred times by now.

It’s the waiting, the in-between. The breath you hold every time you come home before you check the sky for the Dark Mark. The subterfuge, playing verbal battles with people who can smell things just as well as he can- histories, emotions, _lies-_ always a wrong word away from being caught out.

The werewolf pack he’s infiltrating now is the worst yet. Most of them just want to be left alone, forced into a nomadic lifestyle by prejudice and hate. Fenrir’s pack embrace it. Fenrir’s practically a death-eater, though he’ll never be important enough to be Marked and one stumble will get Remus sent straight to Voldemort.

He hasn’t seen Sirius in a month. He can’t remember the last time they were all together; the promises of their childhood feel hollow and breakable.

But that doesn’t matter today. Fenrir Greyback is behind him, a whisper away from his ear.

“Lupin.” He says and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to run far away from him. It’s the day of the full moon, the daylight his only shield from the change it brings. Out here in the forest, amongst the damp undergrowth, the stench of Greyback pulling him back into a night he’d rather forget, he’s half-feral already. He flinches instead. “You’re very edgy today. Haven’t they got you fully domesticated?”

He turns to face him with a flimsy mask of calmness. “I’m no one’s pet, Greyback.”

“That’s not what I hear. You serve Dumbledore’s every whim.”

“I don’t serve Dumbledore.” He says wearily. “There’s a limit to even my gratefulness.”

“Yes, the first werewolf of Hogwarts.” Fenrir stinks of bitterness. “You were meant to be one of my pack.”

“You don’t own me, Greyback, and neither does Dumbledore.”

“You’re a free spirit, is that it?” he laughs. It sounds more like a bark. “Even you’re not naive enough to believe that, Lupin.”

“Aren’t I?”

Fenrir’s studying him. He forces himself to meet his gaze.

“The Dark Lord has someone for us to punish.”

“Oh?”

“Ever heard of the Bones family?”

Order members. Order members no one’s meant to know about. _There’s a spy, there’s a spy._ “In passing. When?”

“When do you think?” Fenrir’s hand catches him by the throat. His hand jerks towards his wand but Fenrir’s grip tightens, dragging the air out of him and suddenly he’s five again, delirious in pain and shock as Fenrir’s fangs stop an inch from his throat. “Think of it as a test of loyalty. If I catch you leaving before the moon I’ll tear you limb from limb myself.”

He releases him and the world jumps back into focus. He breathes. “Good thing I’m used to tests.”

-

His skin is itching. The moon is dangerously close to being unobscured, the pull of it almost unbearable and his body no longer feels like his own. The others are almost lost already and when they’re wolves Fenrir won’t notice his absence. Presumably. He’s known from seven years’ worth of pranks that things rarely go to plan.

He runs. Stumbles to a stop near some stones. Rests the tip of his wand against a rock. Wills it to start changing, hopes it’ll change faster than him. Magic no longer wants to obey him. Pain wrecks his body, his bones and organs starting to shift. His legs don’t feel like his own. His legs aren’t his own.

He slumps to the floor. He still has his arms and, apparently, his magic. The transfiguration is finally complete, iron chains in the place of stone. Silver would be better. He pulls the chains tight around a tree. Imprisons himself in them. Wishes he had time to put some wards up. And then, a final, painless change and his mind is no longer his own.

-

He wakes to blood. It probably shouldn’t be that much of a relief that it’s his own blood but it is. He’d take lying in a pool of his own blood over lying next to human corpses any day.

He manages to reach his wand and mutters, “Diffindo.” The chains around him slacken but even a piece of simple child’s magic leaves him exhausted to the bone.

Eventually, he checks the damage. The pain is familiar but stretches further than ever before. His back is on fire, fragile nerves screaming for relief and a cursory examination confirms that he couldn’t have inflicted those wounds on himself.

Fenrir had to have found him. He hadn’t put up any wards, he’d have heard his howling and found a defenceless, trapped werewolf. And yet he hadn’t killed him. Small mercies.

-

He tumbles sideways into his and Sirius’s house, surprised that he’d had the energy to apparate. The rush of dizziness almost knocks him over but Sirius is soon by his side. He hobbles over to a chair, balance restored, but the light-headedness remains as a constant pressure around his forehead.

“Moony.” Sirius says but there’s no warmth there. The nickname hangs in the air, as cold and informal as if he’d called him Lupin.

The Daily Prophet’s unfurled on the table. `BONES FAMILY MURDERED BY WEREWOLVES`

He freezes.

Maybe he could have prevented it if he’d somehow gotten word to Dumbledore or if he’d found a way to leave without arousing the suspicions of paranoid werewolves. The guilt weighing down on his soul, as Dumbledore would term it, is heavier than the dizziness threatening to drag him into unconsciousness, sharper than the bleeding gashes in his back.

“All they found were their bones. As if that was meant to be _funny_.” Sirius’s voice is tight.

Remus doesn’t look up from the paper. They’d had children; the youngest had been five. But he hadn’t done it. Small mercies.

“All of them? That’s…” The rest of the words die on his tongue. There are no words for this.

Sirius is watching him intently. Not watching for signs of pain as he’d always used to, as if convinced the wolf hadn’t had the need to turn on itself, occupied by other matters.

“What is it Sirius?” _Do you want to ask if I’ve eaten anyone?_

“Nothing.” He says eventually. “I’ll make breakfast.”

 

**V**

**  
**

It’s 1981 and the disappearances have turned into murders and lynchings, all subtlety abandoned; the bodies dumped in the street for everyone to see or left in their houses with the Dark Mark etched into the sky.

Fear suffocates wizarding Britain and only Alastor Moody’s paranoia goes unmatched. The Order are the last defence against Voldemort and they’re dropping like flies, death-eaters waiting to ambush them in half their missions and no member’s identity is secret anymore. _Spy, spy, spy._  

It’s the first time the marauders have been assembled together in a year. Remus can feel their friendship crumbling under the strain of war, their bonds poisoned by paranoia. James and Lily have more to fear than most though no one will tell him why.

“I’m going to be their secret keeper.”

Remus shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Though he’s forgiven him he hasn’t forgotten- can’t forget, how close Sirius had come to creating a tragedy. If not for James, both Severus and himself would be dead. Werewolves were held culpable for their actions every day of the month though they’d never go to Azkaban for them. The Ministry would have just put him down like a rabid dog. “Sirius was never good at keeping other people’s secrets.”

Sirius flinched as if he’d been stung and then flared up in righteous anger. “I’d rather die than betray my friends!” There’s something dangerous in his eyes, something cruel and volatile. “Are you volunteering yourself in my stead? Thinking of how pleased Voldemort will be when you can trade your friend’s lives in for a promotion?”

Silence suffocates the room and all of them, even Sirius, seem to have belatedly realised that he’s gone too far.

“I see.” Remus says quietly. There’s an edge to his voice as sharp as a blade. He stands up.

In some ways this is better than the whispers, the looks, the way he’s been driven to the fringes of the Order, untrusted and the meet ups he’s not invited to; harsh truths are still truths. He’d been foolish to think their camaraderie would outlast Hogwarts, last after they had grown out of their childish naiveté. A pureblood of nobility, a blood traitor, a cursed half-blood and a nameless pureblood sounded like the start of a joke, not the start of a friendship.

“We don’t think that Moony, no one thinks that.” James lies quickly, gaze flitting anxiously between him and Sirius. “We’re not saying you’re a traitor, everyone’s just paranoid.”

He meets Sirius’s eyes and the accusation hidden in them, remarkably calm. He thinks, _this is it, this is the end._

“There’s nothing I could say to convince you. I’d rather not waste my breath.”

He can hear Peter’s rapid breaths, Sirius’s clenched fist sliding against the table, James’s muted whispers of, _don’t, don’t, don’t_. He doesn’t realise he’s leaving until he registers his threadbare shoes against the floor, _clack, clack, clack_. The sound is sharp like silence.

But no one has ever been able to contain Sirius, not even James. His chair scrapes against the floor. “If you weren’t guilty,” Sirius says, hate tainting his words, “you’d be angry. You wouldn’t just give up on us like that.”

Remus’s expression twists into something like bitterness and he whirls around. “If you could separate yourself from your ego, Sirius Black, you’d realise that you are not the benchmark for how all of humanity reacts.” The truth is he’s been waiting for this betrayal ever since a trick of fate put them in the same dormitory, the same House.

His anger cools and his voice turns icy, every word deliberate. “But my personality isn’t what makes you suspect me. Dark Creatures will always be Dark, just as Blacks will always be Blacks, that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” He stares at Sirius, a Gryffindor’s challenge in his eyes. “Half of your family are wear masks and marks and yet I’ve never wondered if you were the spy.”

Sirius is staring at him, wide eyed and open-mouthed, looking entirely as if he’d just punched him in the stomach. James is watching them, looking like he’s watching his darkest nightmare unfold, the collapse of their friendship somehow more terrifying than all of Voldemort’s atrocities. Peter is twitching with nervousness but not leaning towards his wand, more like resisting the urge to transform into Wormtail.

His shoes go _clack, clack, clack_ on the floor as he leaves.

-

Sirius returns to their house to find Remus’s few possessions gone. There’s barely anything missing but it’s empty. Empty of Remus, empty of things that matter.

He goes to bed and doesn’t fall asleep. He tries not to wonder how Remus will afford to eat and where he’ll go on full moons. He tries not to remember the warmth of Remus beside him.

 

-

The betrayal comes.

James and Lily and Peter are dead. Remus sees their bodies, or at least, what was left of it in Peter’s case. They’d still looked like children, eyes wide and glassy in their innocence and far too young to be dead, to be murdered.

Harry Potter, unharmed but for the scar on his forehead, the mark of pure hate bizarrely taking the form of a lightning bolt, had been disappeared on Dumbledore’s whim and Remus forbidden from seeking him.

Sirius is rotting in Azkaban, a traitor and a murderer, and Remus thinks, _of course_ , and curls tighter into his isolation with only the broken promise of their generation to cling to.  

 

 


End file.
